When we last left our heroine, me, I was bent over my bed about to be punished. I reach both hands out in front of me. He secures both of them tightly in one of the restraints on the opposite side of the bed. My feet barely touch the floor. I am stretched taut over the comforter. He slowly walks around the bed. I can feel his heat on my back as he leans over me. His hand touches the back of my knee, running up my thigh, and gently rubbing small circles on my ass. I squeeze my thighs together. I am so wet and so hot for him. Of course he knows this all too well. He slides his hand up my back, wraps his hand in my hair. He firmly pulls my head back and whispers in my ear, "I'll be right back."
He lets go of my hair and with a parting swat on my butt, I hear him leave the room. After what seems like hours (I later find out it was 5 minutes), he returns. Something cold, flat, and hard rubs across my ass. SMACK! "Count,"
I jump and yelp. What the hell is that?
SMACK! "One" I gasp.
SMACK! SMACK! "Two, three" He keeps smacking, I keep squealing out numbers until we reach ten. As my muscles relax, I slump shaking onto the bed.
"Kiss it." He puts the object of my affliction to my lips. He has been spanking me with my wooden hairbrush. I resist the urge to bite his hand. The phrase "biting the hand that spanks me" flits through my brain. I fight down a surge of hysterical giggles. I press my lips to the wood.
"Good girl. I thought we'd start slowly. Now try to behave." As he's talking, his hands are roaming over my stinging backside. "Spread your legs wider."